The Edward S. Ellis Megapack

by Edward S. Ellis

  Then the whole explanation broke upon them. They had come upon a tent in the wood, the light shining through the canvas and producing the effect which first puzzled them. The person inside passed between them and the lamp, so that his shadow was flung on the screen in front. Then he picked up the light, and pushing aside the flap, peered out in the gloom.

  As he did so the glare from the lamp fell upon his face and showed his features so distinctly that both boys recognized him, and uttered an exclamation of astonishment and delight.

  “Bob Budd, as I live! Why, you’re the very fellow we’re looking for!” called out Tom Wagstaff, as he and his companion hurried forward and greeted their friend, whose amazement was equal to theirs when he held the light above his head and recognized them.

  “Where under the sun did you come from?” he asked, all three walking into the tent after shaking hands, and seating themselves, while the host set the light on a small stand at one side.

  “I didn’t expect you for a week or two,” added Bob, whose pleasure could not be concealed.

  “Well,” replied Jim, with a laugh, “we set out to surprise you, and I guess we succeeded.”

  “There’s no doubt of that,” said Bob; “but tell me how you found the way to this spot.”

  The visitors were not quite willing to give the whole truth, and Tom ventured the explanation.

  “We came most of the way in the cars,” said he, “but got off at a little station a few miles out to tramp across the country, thinking we might pick up some game on the way. We didn’t make out very well, and rode to Black Bear Swamp in the stage. There we got out again and set out to find you.”

  “How did you know where to look?”

  “The driver told us you had a camp out this way somewhere, and we thought we might stumble over it.”

  This narrative was so brief in the way of details that the boys ran some risk of having it overturned when the account of the driver and his passenger should be heard, but fortunately for them, Durrell and Lenman forebore any references to the unworthy part played by the youths, and Bob Budd remained ignorant of the real cause of the abrupt flight of his friends, and their taking to the shelter of Black Bear Swamp.

  “I’ve had the tent up for three days,” added the host, who was about the age of his guests, “and it’s so well stored with eatables and drinkables that I come out every night to take a look at it, so as to make sure no tramps or thieves are prowling around. I was about to go home when you hailed me. Shall we go to the house or stay here till morning?”

  “I don’t see that this can be improved on,” replied Tom, looking admiringly about him; “we’re pretty well tuckered out, and I would as lief stay here till morning anyway.”

  “Those are my sentiments,” added Jim, much pleased with the survey.

  “Then we’ll stay,” said Bob; “I’m glad you’re suited. Where are your trunks?”

  “At the station at Piketon.”

  “I’ll send the checks over in the morning and have our man bring them here. I have my own gun and some things to bring from the house, and then we’ll be in shape for a good old time in the woods. I guess, boys, a little refreshment won’t hurt us.”

  The liberality of Bob Budd’s Uncle Jim and Aunt Ruth, with whom he lived (he having no parents or other near relatives), enabled him to do about as he pleased, so far as his own pleasure and self-indulgence were concerned. He quickly set a substantial lunch before his guests, of which all partook. I am sorry to say that strong drink formed a large part of the repast, all indulging liberally, after which pipes and cigarettes were produced, and they discussed their plans of enjoyment.

  Wagstaff and McGovern did not hesitate to admit that they had run away from home for the purpose of having this outing. The fact that their parents were sure to be distressed over their absence was a theme for jest instead of regret.

  “They’ll learn to appreciate us when we go back,” said Wagstaff, with a laugh, as he puffed his villainous decoction of tobacco and poison;“you see, if Jim and I went home now they would be apt to scold; but they will be so glad at the end of a fortnight that they’ll kill the fatted calf and make us welcome.”

  “A good idea,” commented Bob, passing back the flask to McGovern; “you see, my uncle and aunt love me so dearly that they don’t object to anything I do, though now and then Aunt Ruth holds up Dick Halliard as a model for me.”

  “We saw that lovely young man while we were in the stage,” remarked Wagstaff; “he went by us on his bicycle.”

  “Yes; he rides a wheel well, but it makes me mad to see him.”

  “Why so?”

  “Well, he’s younger than me, and I used to go to school with him; he’s one of those fellows who don’t like many things a wide-awake chap like me does, and he has a way of telling you of it to your face.”

  “That’s better than doing it behind your back,” suggested Jim.

  “He has no right to do it at all; what business is it of his if I choose to smoke, take a drink now and then, and lay out the other boys when they get impudent?”

  “It’s nothing to him, of course; we’ll settle his hash for him before we go back. I shouldn’t wonder,” added Tom, with a wink, “if he should find that bicycle of his missing some day.”

  “That would hit him harder than anything else,” remarked Bob, pleased with the remark; “I’ve thought of the same thing, but haven’t had a good chance to spoil it. I say, boys, we’ll have just the jolliest times you ever heard of.”

  “It won’t be our fault if we don’t,” assented Jim, while his companion nodded his head as an indorsement of the same views.

  “Is there good hunting in these parts?”

  “It, isn’t as good as up among the Adirondacks or out West in the Rocky Mountains, but I think we can scare up some sport. I’ve a good hunting dog, and as soon as we get things in shape we’ll see what we can do. What sort of game do you prefer?”

  “Anything will suit me—elephants, tigers, rhinoceroses, and the like; or, if we can’t do better, I wouldn’t mind a bear or deer.”

  “I daresn’t promise much, but we’ll have the fun anyway, and that’s what we all want more than anything else.”

  The boys kept up their conversation until the night was well along, and all were in high spirits over the prospect. They smoked and drank until, when they lay down in slumber, they were in that plight that they did not waken till the sun was high in the heavens.

  The day was so cloudy and overcast that, although it cleared up before noon, they decided to defer their hunting excursion until the following morning, or perhaps the one succeeding that. Tom and Jim accompanied Bob to his uncle’s, where they were made welcome by his relatives, though it must be said that neither was specially pleased with their looks and conduct. They made themselves at home from the first, and their conversation was loud and coarse; but then they were friends of the petted nephew, and that was all sufficient.

  The trunks were brought from the railway station by Uncle Jim’s coachman and taken to the camp of the Piketon Rangers. By that time the news of the attempt to rob the stage had spread, and caused great excitement in the town and neighborhood. Tom and Jim, finding no reference to them in the accounts, deemed it best to say nothing, since they might have found it hard to make it appear that they had acted bravely at a time when such a fine chance was offered to play the hero.

  That afternoon the three fully established themselves in the tent of Bob Budd. The day had cleared up beautifully, but it was too late to start out on the great hunt they had fixed their hearts on, and toward night they separated to take a stroll through the surrounding country, with which they wished to become familiar. They believed this could be done better if they should part company, since each would be obliged to keep his senses about him, and to watch his footsteps more closely than if he had a guide in the person of Bob Budd, their friend and host.

  CHAPTER XV

  THE FOREST PATH

  Dick Hall
iard was kept unusually late at Mr. Hunter’s store that evening, for the busy season was approaching, when the merchant was obliged to ask for extra work at the hands of his employees. Dick showed such aptitude at figures that he often gave valuable aid to the bookkeeper, one of the old-fashioned, plodding kind, who found the expanding accounts too much for him to keep well in hand.

  Reaching his home, he was met by his mother, who always awaited his coming, no matter how late he might be. A light never failed to be shining from the window for the only son, and a warm welcome and a delicious meal were sure to greet him.

  After kissing his mother and taking his seat at the table, he glanced around and asked: “Did father become tired of sitting up for me?”

  “He retired some time ago; he wished to wait, but I advised him not to do so.”

  The lad paused in his meal, and looking at his mother, who was trying to hide her agitation, asked:

  “Why do you try to keep anything from me? Father is worse, as I can see from you face.”

  “Yes,” replied the mother, the tears filling her eyes; “he is not as well tonight as usual.”

  Dick shoved back his chair.

  “I will go for Dr. Armstrong; it’s too bad that he could not have been called long ago.”

  “I would have gone, but I feared to leave him alone, and we were expecting you every minute. You must eat something and swallow a cup of tea.”

  Poor Dick’s vigorous appetite was gone, but partly to please his parent, and partly because he knew it was best, he ate and drank a little. Then he ran upstairs to see his father, who was suffering from a fevered condition which made him slightly delirious. The brave boy spoke a few cheerful words, and then, promising to return as soon as he could, hastened downstairs and donned his hat and coat.

  “You can go quite fast on your bicycle, Dick,” said the mother, “and you know we shall count the minutes till the doctor comes.”

  “You can depend on me to do my best; I will take my bicycle, though it isn’t very far.”

  He had kissed her good-night, and was out-of-doors. The machine had been left just within the gate, where he always leaned it against the trunk of a short, thick cedar. He advanced to take it, as he had done so many times, but to his dismay it was gone.

  The door had closed behind him before he had made the discovery, so that his mother knew nothing of his loss.

  Dick was dumbfounded. Nothing of the kind had ever befallen him before. He had been in the house less than fifteen minutes, yet during that interval his property had vanished.

  “Some one must have followed me,” was his conclusion, “and while I was in the house stole my bicycle.”

  Had the circumstances been different, he would have set a most vigorous investigation on foot, for he prized the wheel above all his possessions; but, with his sick parent upstairs, the minutes were too precious to be spent in looking after anything else.

  “I’ll find out who took that,” he muttered, as he passed through the gate to the highway, “and when I do, he’ll have to settle with me.”

  He studied the ground closely in the hope of discovering the trail, as it may be called, of his machine, but the light of the moon was too faint to show any signs, unless in the middle of the highway, and if the thief had followed that direction, he took care to keep at the side of the road, where there was a hard path over which he could readily travel.

  It was three-fourths of a mile to the home of Dr. Armstrong, who was one of those hard-worked humanitarians—a country physician—subject to call at all hours of the day and night, with many of them requiring a journey of several miles during the worst seasons of the year.

  Dick was fortunate in not only finding him at home, but in his office. He had received a summons to a point beyond Mr. Halliard’s, and was in the act of mounting his horse to ride thither. Since he had to pass the house of Dick on his way, he promised to go at once, so that not a minute would be lost.

  The brief interview with the physician was satisfactory in the highest degree to the youth, for the medical man explained that, singular as it might seem, the fever which he described as affecting his parent was a very favorable sign. It showed that the remedies already used were doing the work intended, and there was more ground for hope of his ultimate recovery than before.

  With this burden lifted from his heart, the boy’s thoughts returned to his bicycle.

  “I would give a good deal to know who took it,” he murmured, as he set out on his return; “I never knew of such a thing. Why didn’t I think of it!” he suddenly asked himself, as he recalled that he had a little rubber match-safe in his pocket.

  Bringing it forth, he struck one of the bits of wood, and shading the tiny flames from the slight breeze, stooped over and attentively examined the road and paths at each side.

  He discovered nothing to reward his search, and resumed his walk homeward. “The thief must have taken the other road,” he concluded, walking more rapidly.

  Only a little way farther he came to the big stretch of woods which surrounded the immense reservoir of water behind the dam that was built years before. Dick was familiar with the locality, and knew of a path which left the main highway and entered the woods, breaking into two routes, one of which led to the mill-pond, while the other, if followed, conducted a person to the wooded hilly region beyond.

  Upon reaching the point where the path turned off from the highway, Dick again paused and struck a second match. This was for the purpose of studying the ground, for somehow or other he had formed the belief that the thief would take to the woods with the property, until he could find time to dispose of it without attracting attention.

  There it was!

  The ground, although quite hard, showed the imprint of the large and small wheel distinctly. Upon turning into the wood the change of direction necessarily threw the wheels out of alignment for a short distance, and there could be no mistake about the prints that were left in the earth.

  “There’s where the thief went!” exclaimed the lad, straightening up and striving to peer into the impenetrable gloom; “but he must have walked and pushed the bicycle, for no one would dare to ride through there in the nighttime. I don’t go home till I find out something about the rogue that took it from the front of our house.”

  It was a source of regret that, in his haste to go to the physician, he forgot the precaution he had resolved to take, whenever he found it necessary to go abroad at night. His father was the owner of a fine revolver that had lain in the house for weeks without being used. If the youth had it with him now, he would have felt double the assurance that was his when he began making his way along the forest path. Nevertheless, his resolution to recover his property was none the less because of his forgetfulness.

  CHAPTER XVI

  THE PLOTTERS

  Dick Halliard had walked only a short distance along the lonely forest path when he made a startling discovery.

  While he was stealthily following some one, an unknown party was following him. His own senses were on the alert, and the young hero caught the faint footfalls not far behind him.

  “That’s more than I bargained for,” he muttered, “and now would be a good time to have my pistol; but I haven’t got it, so what’s the use of thinking about it.”

  There was comfort in the thought, however, that the stranger who was at his heels was unaware of the fact. Had he wished to approach secretly, he could have stepped so softly that Dick would have heard nothing of him.

  But the sensation of being between two fires, and liable to run into both, was so unpleasant that the lad stepped noiselessly from the path and screened himself among the dense shadows, until the one at the rear should pass him.

  He had not long to wait when the footsteps were heard opposite, and with the help of a partial ray of moonlight, which reached the path at that point, he was able to discern the outlines of the party.

  It was well that he was so familiar with the route, for, had he not been, he must
have betrayed himself against the overhanging limbs and bushes, with an occasional depression in the ground, where it was necessary to step with great care.

  Had Dick not known the precise point in the dark where a small stream wound its way across, he would have learned from an angry exclamation of the fellow in front, who slipped and fell forward in it. A slightly longer step than usual placed the eavesdropper on the other side, and he continued his guarded pursuit.

  The next moment brought a sharp shock to Dick, who suddenly became aware that the footfalls in front had ceased. The fellow had stopped walking, and seemed to be standing still, as if listening. The first warning Dick received after he checked himself was a glimpse of his head and shoulders just in advance.

  Fearful of being detected himself, Dick instantly drew back with the noiselessness of an Indian scout, and stood ready to retreat farther or dart aside, as might be necessary.

  “Hulloa there!”

  The call had a gruesome sound in the solemn stillness of the woods, and for a moment Dick was sure he was discovered. He made no answer, and the hail was repeated, but with no more success than before.

  He was convinced that the fellow was not certain any one was behind him, but was seeking to verify a suspicion he had formed.

  Failing of reply, he was quiet a moment longer, when he emitted a low whistle, like the cry of a night bird.

  This, too, had to be repeated, but was more successful than in the former instance, for on the second call a reply came from a point farther on, but not far off. Only a few seconds elapsed when some one was heard approaching, and the couple quickly met in the path, not more than twenty feet from where Dick was standing.

  They began talking, but at first he could not catch the words, which were uttered in low tones. He therefore stole a little nearer, and heard them distinctly.

  “I suppose you have become pretty well acquainted with the country?” was the remark of Jim McGovern.